One Night in Manchester Available NOW for Preorder #BDSM #Erotica @Tirgearr

I’m thrilled to announce that One Night in Manchester is available for pre-order. Pick up your copy now for just 99p and get the book direct to your device on the 31st August when it releases.

What’s it all about? Well, I’m glad you asked, here’s the blurb:

After a flirty online relationship, Grant meets Jessica in Manchester.

He works in TV and he shows Jessica around the set where he’s filming. Their relationship quickly escalates and they have sex…on one of the sets! As things develop, so does their love play. In public places! And a little spanking never really hurt anyone.

Will Jessica be able to say goodbye to Grant when his work is done?

My first novella for Tirgearr Publishing and set in my home city of Manchester, this story has a special place in my heart. Not only is Grant inspired by three special men in my life (you know who you are!), I got to write about Old Trafford and my favourite football team Manchester United too as well as visit my favourite restaurant and write about the naughty things I’ve thought about whilst there.

Here’s an excerpt from the beginning of the book to whet your appetite!

It’s today, it’s today, it’s today.

The mantra just swirls around in my mind. It won’t stop. I can’t think of anything else. I started chatting to Grant some months ago. We met online, like so many people do these days. He was a mutual friend of a friend on Facebook. We had an interesting conversation via one of her posts on the joys of American English versus the ‘real’ version. We became friends ourselves and I don’t think a day has passed when we’ve not sent each other a few words since.

Grant lives in New York City and I’m a Manchester girl, so the time difference can be a challenge. He works in television, produces some kind of comedy show, but he won’t give me details. He says he’s worried I won’t like the show and it’ll impact negatively on how I think of him. Like that’s possible. He is often up late and I’m a customer service rep for a twenty-four hour insurance company so I’m usually up early. It’s strange telling someone goodnight at six in the morning, but we’ve made it work.

I never thought we’d actually meet. Daydreamed it of course, but the ocean between us and respective busy lives made me think it would only ever be a fantasy. Then he said he was bringing a programme over the Atlantic for a special edition and would be working at Media City. I couldn’t contain my excitement as it’s only a matter of tram stops away from where I live.

His email said: It’ll just be a long weekend visit. I’m working the Thursday and the Friday but I’d have the Saturday free if you want to meet up and you know, do stuff.

Do stuff. A variety of erotic images flashed through my mind at those words. That was probably just my fevered imagination, though. We flirt a little bit, and once spent an interesting few hours chatting about personal peccadillos. Turns out we’re into the same kind of thing but at opposite ends of the paddle, so to speak. Ever since I found out about his dominant tendencies I’ve dreamed about being submissive for him.

Of course I kept all that to myself and just arranged to meet him at Media City for a day of Mancunian fun. It would be lovely to meet him, to talk to him, to even just hug him. I have to keep my fantasies under control .He’s become a staple in my life. I don’t want to jeopardise a perfectly good friendship by pushing my lust in his face.

It’s today, it’s today, it’s today.

The sun bursts through when I open the curtains and I’m relieved that the Mancunian weather looks to be behaving for a change. Three outfits hang from my wardrobe door, arranged for all kinds of weather. I can now pick the light, purple sundress that flatters my curves and shows off my legs knowing I won’t freeze to death or look like a drowned rat within seconds. Well, that’s the hope. British weather is known for its bloody mindedness. It changes within seconds.

Trembling with anticipation, I climb into the shower. My heart thuds eagerly, distracting me from thoroughly lathering up. I’ve spent many a happy moment in my shower with an image of Grant and the water pressure up high but I can’t afford myself that luxury today. I really have to rush. So we can pack in the most time together possible, I’m meeting Grant ridiculously early. He has a morning flight on Sunday, so we’ve planned things to allow him plenty of sleep time. He’d joked that if anyone could keep him up all night, it was me. I took the compliment graciously, but it was probably a reference to how much I waffle on and not the sexual invitation I hoped it was.

I don’t really do make up, so once I’ve slipped into my laciest underwear and the pretty purple dress I slick on a little mascara and light pink lipstick and that’s me done. I check my handbag for essentials and head off to get the tram.

It’s today, it’s today, it’s today.

It’s quiet on the platform and the bright yellow Metrolink tram that pulls up is virtually empty, reminding me just how early it is for a Saturday morning. I don’t work weekends, I usually have a lie in. Well, I wake up at five just like I do every day for work, but I tend to laze in bed and chat to Grant for a while if he’s online, then snuggle down for an extra hour or two. It’s silly really, but he always types,

We’re sleeping together today, please don’t hog the covers.

My usual reply varies from begging him not to snore, to saying I’ll cuddle up to him if I need extra warmth. I feel closer to him when we sleep together on separate continents but today we’re in the same city and there won’t be any sleeping.

The tram rolls past the high towers and low Victorian buildings of the city centre. Red brick, shimmering glass, sandstone and concrete flicker past the window. The buildings thin a little the closer I get Salford Quays. The tram line stays away from the waters, but I glimpse the odd peek between the trees and buildings.

We’ve arranged to meet at the tram stop near Media City, which sprawls off to the right. Grant said he’d be finishing off a few things there.

Feeling the tram slowing down, I scan around, look for him. There isn’t a familiar face in sight and my stomach rolls in distress.

What if he’s not here? What if he’s not the tall, dark, handsome young man in the pictures and he’s actually that grey-haired, bent old man sat by the bin?

I calm myself while I wait for the door button to flash green. Pressing it, I continue to scan up and down the platform but the only person in sight is the pensioner. Walking through the newly opened doors I step gingerly along the platform, still looking for him. Surely I’ll recognise him. He’s not shy. His Facebook picture is himself – selfies taken on nights out and such. Or at least that’s what he’s told me.

I’m wracking my brain to remember what it’s called when someone pretends to be someone else online for personal gain. Could Grant be a catfish? It doesn’t seem likely—what would be in it for him? I’m not exactly rich and I’m certainly not a celebrity.

Oh, dear God in heaven, it’s not Nigel from Sales, is it?

I’m so caught up in the possible horror of being all pally pally with Nigel the knobhead who hits on me at work in the most skin-crawlingly creepy way, that I walk slap bang into someone.

“Sorry,” I gasp, then realise I’ve walked straight into the supporting pole of a tourist map. I step back and furtively glance around.

“Jess, are you okay?”

Oh great, Grant is here and the first thing he sees is me walking blithely into an inanimate object. Fabulous first impression.

“Grant?” I ask, looking towards the soft, lilting voice.

“The one and only. Are you okay?” His hand is on my arm and I’m looking up into the brightest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, surrounded by the face I know from so many party selfies.

Dear God, how can anyone have such a perfect smile? He’s actually hotter than I thought.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he asks, running a thumb across my forehead and brushing a loose curl off my face.

“Oh, nothing more than my pride.” I chuckle again, my cheeks getting hotter by the second.

“Well in that case, then—hello, Jess, it’s great to finally meet you.”

“And you, Grant,” I reply. Before I catch my breath he’s wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug. I cling to him. He’s warm and hard and smells of pine and the great outdoors. I don’t want to let him go. His well-trimmed beard presses against my cheek and his hands rest confidently in the small of my back. Embarrassment and panic melt away and I let myself relax into his embrace.

Standing here all day, just wrapped up in him, listening to his gentle breathing and feeling his strong arms around me would be a dream come true. I could close my eyes and forget the world. I feel safe and secure and content, even if there is a bubbling of something disturbing in the pit of my stomach. It is, in a strange kind of way, quite a pleasant feeling, this one of arousal, but it’s not one I’m allowed to give in to.

He pulls back, leaving his hands resting on my hips, then leans in and kisses my cheek. Now I’m back to full-on flustered, the imprint of his lips burning hot against my skin.

You can preorder now for 99p and then you’ll be ready to dive into it on the 31st August when it releases. Don’t miss out on this amazing opening offer :)